


Exeunt, pursued by bear!

by Meredydd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A polar bear and a walrus walk into a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exeunt, pursued by bear!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> Based on a convo with Atlin Merrick about polar bears, glass dildos, and drawings of bees. It took a more serious turn than I'd planned, but taa daa, the story is finally posted!

 

“Oh, for God's sake! Put that away!”

“But the composition is so lovely,” the polar bear said. “There's no lens flare, the colors are so sharp...” He shuffled through the images on his phone before settling on a close up of his favorite glass dildo in the collection. “This one is highly impractical but it was too lovely to pass up in the shop.”

The walrus snorted. “I never thought you'd be the sort to impulse buy. At least not sex toys.”

“They're not sex toys!” Offense colored the polar bear's tone and he shoved his phone back into his fur. “They're objets d'art.”

“Objets d'art meant to be shoved into a bodily orifice,” the walrus muttered, eyeballing his whiskey. “This is shit.”

“With an attitude like that,” the polar bear snarled, “I'm amazed you have any lovelife at all. Oh, wait, no you don't, do you?”

“Very mature. Very well reasoned.” The walrus downed the last of the whiskey and hiccoughed. Above, the aurora borealis swirled and rippled. The walrus was fairly certain he could hear it hum if he just closed his eyes.

“Don't do that. You get all wobbly when you close your eyes.” The polar bear had taken his phone out again and was slipping through the pictures once more. “This one is another favorite--”

“I swear to whatever god is listening, if you show me another dildo...” the walrus' words drifted off as he opened one eye and peered at the picture. “Is that... is that next to your laptop?”

“Size comparison,” the polar bear replied, smug. “Also highly impractical.”

“Wait a mo'. That's the sitting room! I've been using that as a paper weight!”

The polar bear smirked. “It's never been in anyone's arse.” Two breaths. “Mouth, though...”

“Eugh.” The walrus shoved his whiskey aside and slid down to sit on the floor of the bar. “Where is everyone?” he asked after a long moment. “The lights are humming so loud, I won't be able to hear them coming.”

“I don't think anyone's coming. I think we're the only ones at this party.” The polar bear thumbed through his phone again and smiled. “Look.”

“Seriously, no more dildos!” The walrus looked again, though, because it was against his very nature not to look at something when the polar bear asked (ordered, suggested, implied) for him to do so. “Oh.”

“Not everything is something to shove up my arse.”

“When did you draw that?” The bees were tiny, delicate. “We don't have bees in this cold, do we?”

“No, but wouldn't that be wonderful? Tiny bees with furry coats. Small flowers under the ice. Perhaps they'd evolve a special boring adaptation to cut through bits of ice and get to the flowers.”

“But wouldn't the flowers die under the ice?”

“Not if they had bees to take care of them.” The polar bear sounded dreamy and slow. “I drew this last month, after you were injured and we were waiting to be seen.”

“We.” The walrus smirked, his scraggly mustache curving with his lips. “We were, huh? Not just me.”

“I was there with you.”

“Don't sound so prissy. I'm just... yeah. We. Both of us.” He tilted his head up and looked at the swirl of lights above them. “It's too bad we're going to die here. I'd have liked to gone somewhere warmer.”

The polar bear uttered a mirthless laugh. “We're not going to die here. I hear that blasted...oh, what is he? Not a penguin. Those live further south.”

“Arctic fox?” the walrus suggested, giggling drunkenly. “Silver arctic fox?”

“Hardly. It's one of the twats who locked us in here. Heavy footsteps, loud voice...”

The walrus lifted his head. “Locked us in where? This is the arctic circle. There's no locks.”

The polar bear heaved himself to his feet, the wound on his leg showing through the fur. The walrus made a noise of dismay. “It's fine,” the bear protested. “You've lost far more blood than I have. And you're drunk.”

“It's just water,” the walrus protested, looking at the bottle in his hand. “Wait. Was I...where's the whiskey?”

“The water is drugged,” the bear said, sounding grim. “You've bled all over the place. Stay still. Let me... just... let me...”

***

Lestrade watched as Sherlock was all but shoved into the back of a waiting ambulance. John was unconscious, already at the hospital, whisked out and away practically as soon as they got the freezer doors open. Sherlock, though... He hadn't been inside. He'd already made an escape, according to the man in the back of the panda. The serial killer in question, Mister Freeze as he called himself (god, how he hated when they got nicknames), was shaken, beaten, and bleeding himself. “Alright, let's go over this again...”

“The man is insane,” he snarled. “I opened the door--”

“Meat cleaver in hand.”

“Well, of course. And the tall one rushed me, growling like a bear! Kept shouting about his walrus and glass dildos and bees and making me pay.”

“And then he, ah...”

“He bit me!” The killer tilted his head to show the deep, savage bite mark on his neck. “He's insane!”

Lestrade looked over to where Sherlock was crouched in the back of the ambulance, growling at paramedics. “Right. You tried to kill him and his, ah, partner, you've murdered twelve people in the past two years, and you're saying he's insane.”

“I killed them to save them,” he spat savagely. “That nutjob thinks he's a bear!”

Lestrade smiled as the panda roared to life. “Let's just hope the drugs wear off before your trial.” He knocked on the top of he car. “See you at the station, boys,” he called to the officers with their perp. He turned towards Sherlock and sighed. Sherlock was swatting at one of the paramedics, growling and grumping, crouched on the gurney as two more medics tried to restrain him. “Well,” Lestrade sighed, pulling his phone out and thumbing on the camera. “A few seconds wouldn't hurt...”

 

 


End file.
